


Bones and Happy Endings

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Can't think of more, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Jaime's POV, Maybe - Freeform, Romance, Sadly, a bit of a tease in the beginning LOL, because I love the banter, ha, lots of JB banter, maybe not, might add more later - Freeform, seems like I found more tags after all, though there won't be smut because Wacky writes no smut, what are even tags?, with a bit of dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Jaime is over at Brienne's for his usual *treatment*.I suck at summaries.And I don't want to spoil too much.Goodbye.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/gifts).



> Hello everyone! Thank you for looking into this story. 
> 
> The usual things first: I am no native, this story goes up unbeta'd. I own my mistakes and little pests... unless I blame my English tearchers in part... which I do, obviously. 
> 
> I gift this to lovely Quinn as a belated gift. Sorry, didn't get it finished until tonight, darling! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this one!
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

“Oh God.”

“Right there, right there!”

“That’s it! That’s it!”

“Oh, by the Seven. This is so good. Soooooooooo good.”

“Whatever you do, don’t stop, Brienne. Don’t stop.”

“Just don’t stop.”

“Harder! Harder!”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Ahhhhh.”

“… If you don't knock that off, I will throw you out of my practice _right now_.”

“I can’t help it that you happen to have magical hands,” Jaime argues vehemently, leaning his head on the side, though the strands of hair falling into his eyes prevent him from seeing Brienne looming above him, so he just looks in the general direction.

“I don’t have _magical hands_ , you idiot, I just do what I studied and practiced for years,” she retorts, raking her fingers through her hair to get some of the loose strands out of her face.

“And aren’t I a lucky bastard for getting the private sessions with my chiropractor slash osteopath slash sports physician slash massagist slash I-forgot-the-rest after the working hours?” Jaime chuckles, amused.

“You are a lucky bastard most certainly. And I told you time and time again that I would rather have you there during the opening hours,” Brienne argues, leaning back slightly. “Also, I told you often enough that I prefer massage therapist.”

“I don’t want to sit in the waiting room,” Jaime retorts. “ _Also_ , I don’t care. You make my back feel amazing, that is all there is to know for me.”

“Well, I don’t want to sit around my practice longer than I’d have to,” she huffs, before swinging one long leg over the edge of the table to hop off of it. “ _Also_ , if you don't quit making a scene every damn time, you can find yourself a new massage therapist.”

_For a woman that tall, she is surprisingly graceful._

Even though Jaime knows that other times, she is _ridiculously_ clumsy, which is strangely endearing in its own ways. He still remembers quite vividly how she ran against the open door when he told her that she should wear more blue because it brings out the color in her eyes.

“Sit up,” she orders, gesturing at him to get a move. Jaime lets out a long moan. “Can’t we go on with that part a while longer? The massage is always the best part.”

She slaps him on the back lightly for emphasis. “Up you go. C’mon. If you don't get a move, I will shove you off the table.”

Jaime grunts as he sits up on the table, rolling his shoulders.

“Seriously, I should just hire you for our company so you can do that all day long,” Jaime exhales as Brienne takes his wrist in her left hand while pushing against his shoulder with her right hand in a practiced manner. After all, she has been doing that for years now, even if the private session with Jaime only started last year.

“I have _definitely_ better to do than ease out your kinks,” Brienne snorts. “In general, I have much better to do than waste my time with you.”

“Oh, you wound me, woman!” he pouts.

“You’re a lousy patient and you know it. Have been from the very beginning.”

“But I am good-looking, c’mon.”

“You are not the only pretty face lying down on my table.”

“You have other pretty faces beside me? I am shocked.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself. I treat whoever lies down on my table. And you can count yourself lucky that I didn’t give you up after the first few times. You were truly the worst patient I ever had.”

“I pride myself with that.”

“You should not.”

“Also, I’m not that bad anymore. We both know that my mood by the time was rather… circumstantial.”

“You are still a lousy patient. In fact, you aren’t even a patient! You just take up my time.”

“That’s because you enjoy yourself sitting on top of me,” Jaime laughs, though that earns him an abrupt shove and pull.

“Hey!”

“You were going to say?”

“I am no longer that lousy. C’mon. Give me that bit of credit.”

“You may no longer be the absolute worst, but you are still lousy. I told you often enough that you would have far less problems with your back if you finally got yourself an orthopedic office chair and did that five-minute work-out that I have shown you how many times by now? Small wonder that your back is one big knot every time you come by.”

“What do I have _you_ for?” Jaime argues. “You always get rid of all the knots for me!”

“Not for _that_ , most certainly. I only do it because I am obliged to help people in need, you know, I swore an oath and all that once I joined the profession,” Brienne tells him, pressing her thumb further into his shoulder to work the muscles there.

“Oh, c’mon. You don’t just do it because of that oath. You like my company and that is why you do me those favors. I mean, you get rewarded with that view,” Jaime argues, only to shout out once she yanks his arm around to make it pop. “Damn, woman! A warning would be nice.”

“It’s better if you don’t know. Or else you tense up,” Brienne argues, patting him on the shoulder a few times. “Also, stop being such a crybaby. You should be used to it by now.”

 “Seriously, I should forbid you to do that,” Jaime complains.

“ _That_ is the important part,” Brienne insists. “That is what brings the actual relief. The massages help loosen things up so that this part works easier.”

“I oppose this,” Jaime pouts, rolling his shoulder. “The massages are much more important to me.”

Though of course he knows that she has the rights of it. Once the short pain is away, he can feel his entire body growing flexible again.

_Yeah, she does have magical hands._

“Well, if you come to my practice, _that_ is what you get, the real-deal treatment that will actually get you relief and a wider range of movement and rotation,” she tells him as she works on the other limbs, unimpressed by his complaints.

_She usually ignores these, sadly._

“If you want just tip-tap nonsense massages, probably with _happy ending_ , you’ll have more luck down Silk Street,” she goes on.

Jaime can’t help the dark grin. One of the most pleasurable things is to have Brienne of Tarth make un-ladylike things of that sort. Normally, she is a bit awkward about those things, alright, _very_ awkward, but when he teases her just enough, she can curse like a sailor.

“Damn, and here I thought that maybe I would get my happy ending after…,” Jaime says, only to have her pop his necks. “Gah! I hate that part.”

“Everything could be far less painful if only you listened to your therapist, which happens to be me, and did the small work-out – and got yourself one of those chairs. I mean, it’s not like money is the problem for you,” Brienne tells him, working her fingers over his skin with expert hands.

“But they look like crap.”

“I bet there are some that _don’t_ look like crap. You just don’t go looking, that’s the thing. I know you,” Brienne argues, running her thumb over his elbow, detecting even the smallest of irregularities.

“I bet you’d want to see me bouncing around on one of those bouncy balls, which, I may tell you, takes any authority from any person ever. It makes you look like a kid no matter the suit you wear,” Jaime huffs. “I still can’t believe Janos Slynt thought this wouldn’t make him even more ridiculous than he is by nature. Small wonder he got fired a month later. They say it was because he was too old, but I know better, it was the ball, I am telling you.”

“Those bouncy balls are helpful for the spine, there’s no denying there, but I agree that they don’t look _professional_ , so I understand that you refrain from using one of these. But orthopedic office chairs that aren’t _bouncy balls_ are out there, Jaime,” she snorts. “They are all just waiting for you to buy them.”

“What sense would there be if I got one? Then I wouldn’t get the massages anymore,” Jaime insists.

“You also wouldn’t have to go through that,” Brienne says, snapping his back another time, making him shout.

Jaime can’t help but chuckle once he sees that small devilish grin creeping up her lips. Brienne is not that outspoken most of her time. She is extremely polite to patients and the staff. While she will bark out orders if need be, she reserves that small mischievous side of hers for the private moments.

And Jaime can’t deny that he finds that equally endearing as her occasional clumsiness.

Though Jaime supposes he is partly at fault for this – because he keeps making comments that make her blush and that are highly inappropriate. The only way of countering them is to argue on the same level – and that seems to be something Brienne understood by now.

Yeah, definitely his fault.

“Oh, c’mon, let’s be honest. This is _our_ little routine. I don’t even know what I would do every Tuesday and Thursday evening if it wasn’t for you breaking my bones!”

“I _set_ them, I don’t _break_ them,” Brienne says, rolling her eyes.

“It damn well feels like it,” Jaime retorts, rolling his shoulders for emphasis with puckered lips.

“You are always welcome to try one of my colleagues. I can recommend you a whole bunch of them?” she suggests.

“Wench, this is _our_ special thing. You can’t ask me to cheat on you!”

“You just say that because you get free sessions at your convenience,” Brienne snorts.

“Hey, you don’t even use the fancy scented candles and oils for me. I know you have them in that cabinet over there,” Jaime huffs, pointing at the cabinet behind him.

“You go through my cabinet?” Brienne asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

“One time. I was looking for something to eat.”

“Why would I have something to eat here?” She makes a face.

“How would I know? I was hungry, and I thought you surely hide energy bars here somewhere. But then I found your secret stock of scented candles and oils. I must say I felt really wounded at that. I don’t seem to be that much worth to you that you even bother with the real-deal oils and candles,” he tells her, feigning heartbrokenness.

“I use those oils and candles for people who pay for it,” Brienne replies, pulling up the wheeled stool behind her with her heel to sit down on it, swiftly turning around once, twice.

“So if I paid you for it, you’d have to use them one me?” Jaime asks, a dark grin spreading over his lips, reaching all the way up to his eyes.

“I only use them during the regular opening hours, _sorry_ ,” Brienne replies, sticking out her tongue as she rolls over to the wall where the bottle of disinfectant is attached, rubbing her hands to make the gel sink into her pale skin.

“So you would make me wait, but I would get candles and oils?” he asks.

“I do ask myself just what your obsession is with the matter?” Brienne replies, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“I am not _obsessed_ with it. I just enjoy the idea.”

_More than a lot._

Brienne looks at him quizzically, but then narrows her eyes at him, getting the implication there. Jaime chuckles to himself.

He can’t deny that the thought of her towering above him in dim candlelight, moving up and down his body doesn’t have something enjoyable about it.

_Very enjoyable._

“You go on enjoying it, then,” Brienne huffs. “Because only inside your head will it take place.”

“Do you play CDs with whale songs?” Jaime asks with a straight face.

“Nah, I like birds better. If a patient requests whale songs, I got something in store, though,” Brienne tells him with a grin. “You can put your shirt back on now.”

“No second round of massages?” he moans.

“Shirt on. Now.”

“Man,” he sighs, pulling the pepper and salt v-neck shirt over his head.

“I can only repeat it. Come by during the regular hours, then you can book _whatever_ you want. But so long you come by during my personal free time, you get minimal treatment, so no oils, no candles, no whale songs,” she tells him. “Off the table, now.”

“Man, you are bossy,” he grumbles, hopping off. Brienne does quick work to remove the disposable cover, disinfects the area another time, and tosses the paper into the trash can without much effort.

“Can I book a session without having to wait for it?” he asks, fixing his shoes.

“No.”

“Why not? I can pay solid coin for it,” Jaime argues. “You said yourself, money is no problem for me!”

“Because that would be unfair towards the other patients.”

“What do _I_ care?”

“You know that's the rich boy speaking within you, right?” she huffs, grabbing her big bag from the ground. “And I may tell you, that is why people don’t like you.”

“I _am_ a rich boy. What sense would there be to not make use of all that money?”

“You could try not to wave it around people’s faces? Whatever. So, alright. I want to lock up for the night, so let’s get a move here,” Brienne urges him.

“No happy ending this time round?”

“Most definitely not,” she snorts, making Jaime laugh.

Once Brienne turned off all lights and locked the doors, they head to the parking lot, to where Jaime parked the car.

They get inside and Jaime starts the engine, pulling out of the curb out on the main street.

“So? How was work?” Brienne asks, looking out the window as the lights pass them by in long threads of color.

While the late-night treatment sessions are already very loose in conversation, Jaime found himself enjoying specifically these moments. Brienne is mostly worn out after a long day at work. The mood is relaxed.

_It’s a bit like coming home._

“Strenuous. Big business meetings. Lots of people talking nonsense. You know, the usual game… We had to close down a small company today, after Lannister Corp. overtook it… I just always hate it that our family business seems to solely rely on the unsuccessfulness of other people. I mean, that’s the way it goes, I am aware, but it’s frustrating to see that this is what we are looking out for,” Jaime admits.

And that is the thing.

Normally, Jaime doesn’t talk about those matters. He is actually not one to complain – _for real_. He complains about many things, but more in a mocking manner. But to address things that bother him personally? He will rarely drop that information to anyone beside… well, Tyrion, most likely.

That is what you seem to get when you have a general issue with opening up to other people. Jaime still blames his father for it, but there is no sense in it now. Because he has the issue at present, as well as all of his siblings.

But with Brienne? Ever since he started going to her practice, he found himself talking about those things much more openly. While he can’t pinpoint exactly just _why_ that is so, he knows as a matter of fact that he feels much more confident talking to her about those matters than with most other people.

Though if Jaime had to name one reason among many, he reckons it’d be that he knows that she will always be honest with him.

“I imagine,” she replies, offering a sympathetic look.

_And that is the other thing – the woman actually has sympathy for a **rich boy** the likes of Jaime Lannister. _

“Well, you enjoy the merit of doing morally just work. As a therapist, helping people, healing people… the righteousness must flood right through you, no?” he chuckles.

“I don’t mean to act like a virtuecrat,” Brienne grumbles.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I suppose it must be nice to know that you do something that is apparently not being an asshole to other people out of economic gain,” Jaime explains.

At first, he thought she was _really_ just a virtuecrat, but Jaime had to revise that notion soon enough. She simply _is_ that… _virtuous_ , but Brienne doesn’t rub it under your nose, really. While she will tell you if what you do is wrong in her opinion, you likely won’t hear from her how she wouldn’t ever do this, wouldn’t ever have thought that, or how that never would have happened to her because she knows better.

“You can always change profession, you know? Do something that is more… you?” she suggests. Jaime lets out a dry laugh at that. “Not when your last name is Lannister. There is just the family… or the family… or falling from grace and having a private detective haunting you.”

“Sometimes it’s tough to bear a family name, I know.”

“What? I thought your father is one of the kind people?” Jaime argues.

_At least that is what she always says about him: He is such a good man. Such an honorable man. And so on, and so on._

“He _is_ a very kind man, but… set on traditions and _furthering the lineage_ , you understand?” Brienne tells him, gesticulating.

“Seriously? I thought I was the only one!” Jaime laughs.

“My dad has set me up on dates since I was a teenager,” Brienne snorts. “And I may add that his taste in possible partners for me was shitty at best. One was twice if not thirce as old as me, which was all kinds of creepy.”

“Ouch.”

“He also gives the regular phone calls if I finally have a partner with whom I can make heirs for Evenfall Hall,” Brienne goes on.

“I don’t get the phone calls – but I get my father asking me personally all the while during work.”

“Ouch.”

“I never thought our fathers could have anything in common. Because I still think mine is the devil in disguise.”

“I know my father doesn’t mean me ill by doing so. He is just… afraid that the Tarth lineage may come to an abrupt end. We are _a family of history_ , as he always underlines,” Brienne says, mimicking a dramatic voice.

“As are the Lannisters,” Jaime chuckles. “All the way back to the times long before Robert’s Rebellion.”

“Well, I am the only child left, so… all hopes lie with me, I suppose,” Brienne says, rolling her shoulders.

“And your uterus?” he snorts.

“You bet,” she laughs.

And that is another curious thing about Brienne – while she is not the prettiest to look at, she has a very radiating smile, so Jaime found. It reaches all the way up to her big blue eyes to make them sparkle even in the darkness of a car.

“Yeah, what a better way to show family love than questioning if you can make babies,” Jaime huffs. “Did you know that Father asked staff at the hospital for _that_ after my accident?”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Wow, so both our fathers turn insane in the face of family lineages.”

“Seems like it.”

“Our families suck.”

“Seems like it.”

He pulls into the parking lot.

“So,” he says, drawing out the last sound for a long moment.

Because, truth be told, those car rides are always over far too fast.

“So… I will head inside now,” Brienne says, flashing a rather shy smile this time as she opens the door after unbuckling her seatbelt.

“I will see you on Thursday?” he asks.

“You better be there in the morning or else our arrangement comes to an abrupt ending,” she tells him, pointing a finger at him.

“ _Happy_ abrupt ending?”

“Shut your filthy mouth and be on your way,” she snorts, tapping the flat of her hand on the car’s roof. “And get yourself a chair already.”

“You can gift me one for my birthday?” he suggests.

“I don’t get you birthday presents. You’re a patient paying with car rides in fancy sports cars instead of money. That’s as far as it gets for me,” Brienne tells him.

“Oh, c’mon! I told you often enough you should come to my super expensive yet super lame birthday party my brother forces upon me.”

“And you advertising it as ‘super lame’ tells me just how promising that would be. Then I rather spend some hours… in the waiting room of my local dentist.”

“You’d take a visit at the dentist over a birthday party? My birthday party?”

“I hate parties.”

“Are you allergic to people or what?”

“Maybe? Who knows?” Brienne snorts. “I am still not entirely sure if I am not allergic to your bullshit.”

“My offer holds true till last, wench.”

“ _Don’t_ call me wench.”

“It’s my pet name for you.”

“And I told you often enough that I don't consider it such. Just like I told you that I would end you if you ever dared calling me that while other people are around.”

“I will be greatly disappointed if you don’t come to my super lame party.”

“I think you’ll survive,” Brienne argues, turning away.

“Hey, you don’t just walk away while having conversation with people!” Jaime calls after her.

“I can’t hear you!”

Jaime laughs as he pushes the button for the window to go back up, shaking his head.

_And just like that, a crappy day got more or less of a happy ending after all._

* * *

 

Jaime looks around the bar his brother dragged him to, on a Friday night, when all Jaime wanted to do was sit on his couch and watch the game of Kingsguard vs. Night’s Watch on TV, trying to forget yet another awful day at work.

But his brother had something different to say about it. Therefore, here he is now, in a bar he doesn't know, listening to his brother rambling about one of his least favorite topics: _That super lame birthday party._

“C’mon, you could at least _act_ like you care about this in the slightest.”

“I don’t care about my birthday and you know it. So, we might just as well cut the matter short and celebrate like normal people do. With a six-pack and cigars or whatever,” Jaime grumbles, twisting his glass of water on the table to watch the circles of the condensed water growing.

“You don’t smoke cigars, Mr. My-body-is-a-temple,” Tyrion retorts.

“Can we just… not do that?” Jaime sighs.

“Do not fret, Cersei is not invited,” Tyrion assures him.

She, too, works at the company, but _gladly_ in another department. There were some issues a few years ago that put more than a bit of strain on their relationship, resulting in a growing disentanglement and emotional distance. She tried to torpedo Jaime’s department to gain more shares, unsatisfied with not being in a position where she can make decisions regarding the company’s politics all by herself.

While Jaime could care less about the shares he holds by virtue of his father having given them to him as his firstborn son, namely more than he granted Cersei or Tyrion, it pained him personally that his sister, out of hunger for power, moved behind his back to cheat him out of his position at the Lannister Company.

Up to date, the woman has not once apologized for the matter, only ever pointing out to him that it was unfair of Father and that if he loved her, Jaime would have seen that all the while and would have given her some of his shares so she would have at least as much say as him. And Jaime couldn’t bring himself to agree to that already for the sole reason that his sister is not really known for making the most balanced decisions.

They are on speaking terms, they act civilly around each other, but that is as far as it gets for Jaime at this point.

“I don’t care if she is there or not,” he tells his younger brother.

Because he really doesn’t care anymore. A while back, he was angry, not only because of the share issue, but also because Cersei was not at all helpful during his rehab and physio after the accident. But now… he just doesn’t care anymore.

And Jaime can’t say he misses anything ever since indifference replaced fury.

“ _I_ care. I try to see her as little as I can,” Tyrion grumbles.

“As the Dothraki say: It is known,” Jaime sighs.

It is no secret that those two truly hate each other by now. Cersei blames Tyrion for nonsense such as their mother’s death, after she gave birth to Tyrion… and pretty much anything not going according to her plans. And it greatly displeases her that Tyrion is still higher in the ranking than her at the company, because apparently, Tyrion is good at his job while Cersei… only does the minimum required, which, to her great surprise, does not earn her promotions or more shares.

“Look, this club is perfect! We can fit all our friends in here,” Tyrion says, gesturing around.

“ _Your_ friends. I don’t know 80% of the people you put on that list,” Jaime argues, pointing at one of the papers Tyrion spread out on the table.

_It is a damn folder. A folder!_

“I can’t help it that you apparently seem to be unable to make friends. Though I guess I can’t blame you for it,” Tyrion says.

“Why?” Jaime furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“You are so pretty that people get intimidated by it, naturally. You are every guy’s worst nightmare as a friend. Whatever girl there is, be sure she’ll want to hook up with you rather than your potential BFF.”

“I never took a girl from Bronn, so he could stop being a bitch about it,” Jaime argues, rolling his eyes.

He kissed Lollys on the back of the hand once when he first met her. What could he help it that she was squealing like a teenage girl at a concert?

“Your handsomeness is frustrating.”

“Your obsession with my birthday is equally frustrating, dear brother.”

“It’s a party. With food. And people. You like to party!”

“I like to party when I feel like it. When I want to dance at a club, I go to a club. If not, then not.”

“Then why don’t you tell yourself that you want to shake it up on your birthday?”

“You are an annoying little pest, you know that?”

“You love me, we both know that.”

“That I do, and that is _truly_ frustrating,” Jaime exhales.

“Will your Lady Doctor drop by at last?”

“She says no,” Jaime says, leaning his head back.

“I seriously have to clap myself on the shoulder for picking that woman as your therapist,” Tyrion giggles.

“Yeah, you be proud of yourself,” Jaime says, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Hey, a woman who is not instantly kissing your shoes for your prettiness? That woman has my respect… that, or she is just blind. In which case she still has my respect.”

“Do you seriously start with disabled jokes again?”

“I am disabled, I get to make all the jokes if I want… and judge all those who are not disabled and still dare making jokes on the matter. I love political correctness for those reasons.”

“Whatever.” Jaime rolls his eyes.

“Did you two screw yet?” the younger brother asks out of the blue. Jaime’s head snaps back to meet his gaze. “Tyrion!”

“Oh, so not yet? Poor you, that means you didn’t get laid in ages. Your balls must be blue by now.”

“I am so definitely not coming to that birthday party,” Jaime says. “That’s it.”

“You must!” Tyrion shouts.

“No,” the older brother grounds out.

“Even if I take back the comment about your blue balls?”

“Order me something good to drink so that I am in a better mood again, then we see,” Jaime sighs.

“Ah, one can always count on you,” Tyrion smiles before turning to the bartender. “Sir? Garçon?”

“ _Garçon_? Seriously?”

“I love those fancy-sounding words. They make me sound even smarter than I am by nature.”

“They make you sound like an asshole.”

“Yes, Sir?” the bartender asks, walking up to Tyrion.

“My brother would like a drop of the finest Whiskey you have.”

“In a minute.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Tyrion smiles, before turning his attention back to his brother. “So now… back to the party. I was thinking about mostly finger food. People don’t want to sit down during those events, unless they need a break. They want to party, dance, drink, and likely make out.”

“Ugh,” Jaime grunts.

“Hey, think about it like this: If you bring by a date, it might give her ideas. Inspiration is key,” Tyrion says with an extended index finger.

“Seeing guys dry-humping chicks is something you call _inspiration_?”

“Making love is an art.”

“Oh by the Seven.”

“So, about the food another time. Maybe we should offer normal stuff like cheese sticks and the like, but the _fancy_ version. I already talked to the chef of this fine establishment. He can sprinkle some stupid culinary herb in it. Or sesame. Or whatever else. You put it in a fancy glass and put it on a silver tray and people will think this to be a four-star menu.”

“I don't give a damn. We might just as well serve Hot Pie’s hot pockets. What would I care?”

“You have such class, brother. Those things are important.”

“Not for me.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“And ever since you took it upon yourself to organize this annual event, I came to care about it as much as I do about my next appointment with Father to talk about the international trading routes,” Jaime grumbles.

“You do not appreciate me enough, you know? The effort I make?” Tyrion complains.

“I make enough effort putting up with you. Also, do I have to remind you of the many times I played wingman for you? The many times I picked you up _from God knows where_ because you didn’t want Father to find out that you were drunk, when still way too young to be even close to alcohol? Oh, or how about you and Shae and that incident at the office…”

“Enough!” Tyrion intervenes.

“Ha,” Jaime laughs with a mischievous grin on his lips.

“So? Fancied up finger food or canapés?”

“What exactly is the difference?” Jaime asks, wrinkling his nose.

“One is fancied up, the other is fancy by nature?”

“But aren’t they then both fancy?” The older brother makes a face.

“Oh, don’t get philosophical on food with me,” Tyrion grunts.

“ _You_ are the one making it issue.”

“Why do I even bother to involve you?”

“I ask myself that question every damn time!” Jaime says, getting up.

“And where do you think are you going?”

“The bathroom?”

“Check on your balls while at it!”

“You can really count yourself lucky that you are a little dwarf, or else I would fling you across the bar right now.”

“ _Toss the Dwarf_ is no nice game! At least not until he is drunk enough to find it funny!”

“Whatever. I’ll be right back.”

Jaime maneuvers to the restrooms, quickly wraps up business, and heads back out again, when suddenly his phone rings. Jaime grimaces as he fishes the cellphone out of his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Hey, uhm, it’s Brienne, Brienne of Tarth, I…”

“Hey!” Jaime says, though he can’t help the frown. She sounds weird, and something deep in the pit of the stomach makes Jaime more than uncomfortable about it. “What’s up?”

“Uhm, I normally wouldn’t… it’s…,” she mutters, and if he is not mistaken, she is pinching the bridge of her nose now. “Okay, you said that you owe me some many favors for the private bone setting sessions, right? I would require to call in one of those favors in… like right now.”

“What is wrong?” Jaime asks, feeling worry rise in his chest.

“Is it perhaps possible for you to pick me up from the gym?”

“The gym?” Jaime frowns.

As far as he is concerned, she should be there with her motorcycle.

“Yeah. Goodwin’s. It’s… shit, I shouldn’t have called. Forget it. I am sorry. I am probably interrupting you in the middle of something,” Brienne says, already meaning to hang up, but Jaime interrupts her quick enough, “Wait, wait, wait. Give me ten minutes and I am there, alright?”

“Really?”

“Sure. I will be there as soon as I can,” he assures her.

“Thank you,” she replies meekly.

“Alright, then I will see you in ten,” Jaime says with a grimace, still wrapping his head around this.

“… Okay.”

Jaime grimaces, stuffing the phone back into his jeans before heading back to where his brother is sitting. He grabs his coat.

“Hey, wait, where do you think you are going? We still have to choose the appetizers and the wines and the booze most importantly!”

“I got some sort of emergency call,” Jaime tells him.

“ _Some sort of_ emergency call?”

“Don’t ask me. I just have to head out, _now_. Look, whatever you find right will be right. You have picked the food and drinks every damn time. Why would you make shitty choices now? I will call you later, alright?”

“… Sure.” Tyrion grimaces.

“Okay, bye, then. And sorry about that.”

“No problem, I guess,” Tyrion says, watching his brother leave the bar in a hurry. He turns back to the bartender. “Garçon? I would like to do a winetasting now if that is possible?”

“Not at that hour, fellow.”

“Did you know that my father’s name is Tywin Lannister?”

“… I will see what I can do, Sir.”

“That sounds more to my liking, _Garçon_. That asshole’s name has to be good for something after all!”

* * *

 

The ride to the gym is more of a rush of colors and streetlights for Jaime as he mentally goes through the options of why Brienne may have called him of all people.

But the more he thinks about it, the more upset he feels himself growing.

Jaime is surprised to see Brienne standing outside the gym already, and the fact that police is there, or rather, pulling out of the curb right as he comes by.

_The woman better should have waited up inside._

Jaime stops the car and gets out. Once she sees him approaching, her eyes light up with an odd mixture of relief and shame.

“Hey!”

“T, thank you t, that you c, came by,” Brienne stutters. Jaime takes a good look at her, she is shaking, even paler than usual, and her colors are equally light-colored.

“Wait, have you been out here this whole time?” Jaime asks, taking in Brienne’s apparent appearance – because there is no coat, she is still in her sportswear, tight leggings and a tank top, coupled with brightly colored sport shoes, and shivering bitterly.

“It’ a l, long story,” she exhales wearily.

Jaime quickly takes off his coat to give it to her. Brienne looks at him rather perplex, but then takes the coat from him anyway to wrap around her shoulders. “I… thank you.”

“C’mon, let’s get you into the car. Geez, it’s freezing.”

“You t, tell me?”

They make their way into the car and get inside. Jaime puts up the heating to the highest level.

“So okay… what exactly happened here?” Jaime asks, pulling out of the parking lot, watching her from the corner of his eye as Brienne keeps bobbing her legs to keep warm.

“I am really sorry that I even b, bothered…,” Brienne begins, but he interrupts her before she can go on with the litany, “Could we leave that aside for now and focus on the facts?”

Brienne looks at him for a moment, but then turns her gaze away again. “It was a chain of very unfortunate events.”

“Explain.”

“So… I wanted to work out a bit after work. I tend to do that… I always go to Goodwin’s. He is a friend of the family. So, he trusts me to stay even after the closing hours.”

“That sounds strangely familiar,” Jaime can’t help but note, referring to their little agreement.

“You are not the only one as it seems, “Brienne says with a small smile that soon fades away again. “In any case. The doors are designed in such a way that once you activate the mechanism, they will only open from the inside, but not the outside anymore. So, when you leave, you can no longer get back inside. That’s practical for Goodwin and me. I can just leave once I am done and he doesn't have to bother about me having a key or not.”

“So, you exited… by accident?” Jaime concludes.

“ _Something_ like that. After I was done with the work-out, I went to my locker, only to find it open – and empty,” Brienne explains.

“Someone stole your things.”

“Everything safe for my phone. Because _that_ I had with me while in the gym, but not the rest. I came directly from work. Normally I never even take my purse along when I head there on normal schedule. But tonight… I thought it’d be fine. I have been here for years and nothing ever happened. _Ever_! But that one night I am careless, this happens of course… argh!” she growls in frustration, raking her long fingers through her still damp hair.

“And why did you exit then? I mean, wouldn’t it have been better to call from in there?”

“I _would_ have. But I thought I heard the robbers outside, by the dumpsters. I don’t know. It was instinct. I just ran outside, hoping that maybe they didn’t get too far yet and I might catch them after all, or at least see what license plate they have to report to the police. Turns out it was a stupid cat in the stupid dumpster… Once I realized that, the door had closed and I had successfully locked myself out.”

“That’s surely bad luck.”

“It’s stupidity mingled with bad luck, but yeah.”

“That can happen to anyone. It happens to a lot of people,” Jaime argues.

Brienne looks at him for a long moment, but then ducks her head away again before she goes on talking, “Well, I only had my phone on me, thus. I called up police, and I suppose they sent two of the most unable men I have ever seen in my entire life. One took the evidence while the other kept asking me outside, and I asked him repeatedly if we couldn’t head inside, but the guy just wanted to finish up the report. I swear to the Seven, that guy never should have gotten a badge.”

“Asshole,” Jaime grumbles.

“Yes!” Brienne cries out, but then puckers her lips. “But oh well, I guess it’s because I don't look like one of the frail girls who shiver to their bones from shock after some thug stole their purse. As though tall women don’t get cold, whatever.”

Jaime wants to say something to that, but Brienne goes on talking before he can get to it.

“Well, anyway… By the time they were ready for take-off, you came… so I sent them away… which, upon reflection, was a stupid thing from the beginning because I could have asked them to drive me home,” she exhales, burying her face in her hands. “Why did I call you in the first place?”

“Hey, it’s really no bother. I wasn’t busy or so,” Jaime assures her quickly, noting the distress in her voice.

She may not look like one of the “frail girls”, but that experience seems to have shaken her through more than she would want to admit to herself after all.

No matter how tough you are, something, however small it may appear, can still get to you.

_Even to Brienne of Tarth._

“Still. I mean, I actually wanted to call a taxi, but then I realized that I had no money on me to pay for the ride, and since I have no keys, I couldn’t even get inside my apartment where I have at least some money,” Brienne goes on.

“It’s alright, I am telling you,” Jaime insists. “So okay, where shall I take you?”

There is a long moment of silence.

“Brienne?”

“… Just drop me off at my apartment,” she says stiffly.

“Does one of your neighbors have a spare key?”

“… No.”

“Then it doesn’t make too much sense to go there, right?”

“I will call a locksmith,” Brienne argues.

“At that hour? On a Friday night? Good luck,” Jaime snorts. “Some family or friend I can take you to instead?”

The laugh she lets out makes Jaime jerk in his seat.

“What was funny about that?”

“I am sorry, this is just… totally pathetic. Whatever. Just drive to my apartment. I will take it from there.”

“Just tell me one of your friends’ addresses. I bet they will take you in for a night or two,” Jaime argues.

“My family is _on Tarth_ , alright? And Goodwin took off tonight for a weekend trip just there. He is at the airport by now.”

“ _Some_ friend?”

“We won’t have luck in that department.”

“… Boyfriend?” Jaime asks, surprising himself with just how sheepishly the word comes out of his mouth.

“Go kid yourself, Lannister,” Brienne snorts.

“What?”

“Whatever. Just drive to my apartment, _please_.”

“So that you can sleep outside your own door? I don’t think so.”

“Jaime, please. Could we just… _not_ argue right now? This is all bad enough. I can’t have that now, too,” Brienne tells him pleadingly.

“Then stop arguing,” Jaime huffs. “Listen. I think the best option is if I take you over to my place.”

“What?” she cries out in utter shock.

That is what Jaime expected, however.

“You need to warm up. I have enough room for ten guests if I wanted to. You can, I don’t know, take a hot shower if you liked, drink some hot beverage of your choosing, inactivate your credit card so that the assholes who stole your stuff can’t purchase cheap booze and a car at your expenses, and the like. And in the morning, we can have the locksmith work on your door and see about it that you get new papers and the like. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

“I can’t accept.”

“That presumes that you have a choice in this, which you don’t,” Jaime says sternly.

The only way to talk to her regarding these things. You have to leave her with no other alternative but this. Jaime knows that by now.

“I don’t get a choice?”

“I drive the car, and the car drives to my place. Period.”

Brienne says nothing anymore, just glances ahead. Jaime grimaces. That is not at all what he imagined it to be like to take her over to his place.

_Not at all._

Once there, he ushers her inside, having none of her insisting on going home on her own.

_You really have to force the luck on her._

Once inside, Jaime straightly walks into the open kitchen. “So okay, I have tea, coffee, and I may have cocoa somewhere, but I don’t guarantee for it actually tasting good, let alone decent.”

“Uhm, tea would be great, thank you,” Brienne says meekly.

And that is something most definitely new to Jaime.

He never heard that voice before.

Embarrassed? Yes.

But not meek.

And he _really_ doesn’t like it.

Jaime watches from the corner of his eye as Brienne maneuvers over to the couch uncertainly, sitting down, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asks cautiously, making sure to keep his voice leveled.

“No, no, thank you.”

Jaime pours the hot water over the teabag before walking over to hand her the mug, which she takes gratefully, holding it between her cold fingers.

Jaime sits down next to her on the couch. “I did mean what I said. That could have happened to anyone, so no shame in it, alright? It’s absolutely no problem to have you here for the night.”

Jaime is ever the more irritated when she puts the cup down on the table and starts to pinch the bridge of her nose, covering her eyes with index finger and thumb.

“Are you… are you crying right now?”

_Please no._

Because Jaime knows he is shitty at comforting people.

“Just shut up for a moment, will you?” Brienne grounds out.

“Brienne…”

“I will have a handle on this in a minute, just let me, okay? I am aware that these are all just minor things. Not worth fussing over, but… fuck. They even took the keys to my practice. And my ID. And my driver’s license. And the picture of my dad I have in my purse… fuck. FUCK.”

Jaime grimaces, but then keeps his mouth shut, reckoning it really might be for the best to give her that moment for herself.

“Okay, so can you tell me now what happened to the _Amazon of Chiropractic_ who takes no bullshit from anyone? Including this asshole here?” he asks, pointing at himself, hoping that the change in tone will somehow release some of the tension.

She huffs at him. “The _Amazon of Chiropractic_ just realized her own pitiful state of existence.”

“Which is supposed to mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“I just realized that I don’t have actual friends,” Brienne blurts out saying.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I have _colleagues_. I have _friends_ , but here in King’s Landing? I have no single friend I would dare to call up in the middle of the night to pick me up from somewhere, like, say a gym, after I got robbed,” Brienne says with bitterness in her voice. “If the best you can do is call up the guy you give massages in exchange for car rides, then that is… _pitiful_. Nothing against you, it’s just… it just didn’t really occur to me until tonight that I am that much of a social loser. I was aware that I was unpopular, have been for all my life, but that is… a new level, way below the one I actually thought I was at.”

“Now stop talking nonsense. You are very good at your job, you are…,” Jaime means to say, but Brienne interrupts him. “Yes, I am very good at my job. And _that_ is what gives me confidence. _That_ is why I am having none of your bullshit when you come to my practice. That is all part of a spectrum of things that I am… _good_ at. It’s something I am used to, it’s something I trained. But… as for the rest? I am just a total, absolute loser… who now told the guy kind enough to take her in for a night… just that. Fuck. I have to shut up.”

“Don’t,” Jaime argues. “You take up with my lamenting about the job. The least I can do is put up with that just now, don’t you agree?”

She looks at him for a long moment, her big blue eyes about as radiant as they are filled with shame and… _surprise, is it?_

“If it is you any comfort, I am just like you.”

“What now?” Brienne snorts. “Am I to believe that Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister has no friends? The guy who can have any woman he wants? The guy who is rich and all the things that people would die for to have?”

“I _have_ friends, that’s not the thing, but I don’t have _best_ friends I can wake up in the middle of the night to have a beer with either. Apparently, I was forced into that realization yet again tonight, before you called me, even. Because my brother hosts my birthday party, and there are no actual friends on the guest list,” Jaime admits, now being honest with himself likewise.

Perhaps that is what makes him care so little about those parties: Because, safe for his brother, there is no one going to be there whom he remotely cares about.

Who matters to him enough that he wants him or her to be there.

“Well, at least you have your brother,” Brienne argues.

“ _That_ is true, but outside the family… no such luck. So, if it is you any comfort, you are not alone with that.”

“Sometimes I just think that I should have returned to Tarth after I finished my degree and all. Open up a small practice there. If I had locked myself out, my father would have been only a phone call away,” Brienne laughs with a hint of bitterness still, but her tone becomes lighter, much to Jaime’s relief.

“Well, I am glad you didn’t. My back would be one huge knot if not for you,” he says, winking at her. “And I would probably still swim in my own self-pity after the accident.”

“So the gist is… that we both are social losers?”

“I think you could put it like that, yeah,” Jaime chuckles, grimacing.

_Yeah, Brienne of Tarth will always be honest with you, even if it hurts._

“Wow, we _suck_.”

“I reckon that to be true at this point…”

“That is depressing.”

“Tell me about it. I mean, I am an overly entitled rich boy with good looks. I should have a bunch of awesome friends. But… _nope_.”

“The evening just keeps getting better and better,” Brienne snorts.

“Hey, at least you don’t have to camp on your own front steps,” Jaime huffs.

“I don’t complain.”

“For that you complained a whole lot.”

“That’s… I didn’t mean it against you, I really didn’t.”

“How?” Jaime snorts.

“Look, it’s… I don’t like to ask for help. Never did. I rather do things on my own. I taught myself how to fight by quarreling with the boys on Tarth because my Father thought it would be too un-ladylike to have his child do such a thing – until he relented and let me learn martial arts and even swordfight. But normally, I do things my way, without accepting help from anyone. So that all mistakes are mine and I don’t bother people with my own… shortcomings.”

“How comes you called me up, then?” Jaime can’t help but ask.

“You have no idea how much of a break-through that is for the likes of me. Normally, I would have walked home no matter the weather,” Brienne tells him.

“Talk about being stubborn,” he chuckles.

“I guess it’s not just about being stubborn, it’s… I don’t know, not wanting to admit that you are not enough.”

“We have a lot more in common than I firstly anticipated.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Want to hear a secret?”

“… Sure?”

“Well, it’s not that much of a secret. You got to know me by the time. But after my accident and the chronic hand pains, I didn’t want _anyone’s_ help. I was being… a massive bitch to everyone around me. Even Tyrion, who’s been likely the greatest support from the family side,” Jaime admits.

He knows he was rather awful during that time.

He always was and still is a very athletic man. He loves all kinds of sports. Though climbing no longer belongs in the category since the accident.

As Brienne coined it, this, too, was a _chain of very unfortunate events_.

Jaime thought he could climb that steep stone wall in the Kingswood, only to realize that he had aimed too high. He fell, and as it appeared, there was a malfunction in the belt buckle. So he fell the way down to the ground below. His hand got caught on a rock, resulting in multiple fractures.

At least he got a fancy ride in the helicopter after that!

Many surgeries and days and weeks lying in a hospital bed, Jaime had to face the reality that his hand wouldn’t ever be the same as it used to and that he would no longer be able to use it to the level he once had in his prime. Though that was not even the worst of fortunes. The worst was definitely the chronic pains that came and stayed.

Jaime didn’t want to leave the apartment for a long while. He kept pushing everyone away from him, even his younger brother, the one guy who didn’t give up trying no matter how much Jaime pushed from the other side – for which he will forever owe him. Jaime didn’t want to go see specialists, he just wanted to wallow in self-pity, drown in it, until Tyrion dragged him to Brienne’s practice, after he got the advice from one of his friends that Brienne was an expert in her field.

Jaime was very unsatisfied at first because she couldn’t make the pain just go away, but instead made him _work_ , work-out, train those muscles again that he just wanted to die if he didn’t believe them dead. It was excruciating at times, but after some time… through the hard work, Jaime got over chronic pains and along with it regained his bodily strength.

By the end of that therapy session, he felt more like himself before the accident again. If not, strangely, a bit better.

Jaime reckons that Brienne did the trick because she had done what most other specialists before her had not: She made him _work_ , work hard, and didn’t let him off the leash even when he felt like giving up. She didn’t just give him a pill to forget the pain, she forced him to work through the pain, or rather, she worked with him through the pain.

“Hey, your dad made at least sure that you can still reproduce,” Brienne jokes.

“Yeah, the amount of concern for _my person_ was overwhelming… in any case, I was being…,” he means to say, but Brienne interrupts him quickly, “An asshole.”

“I wanted to say in ‘a bad mood.’”

“You were an asshole,” Brienne huffs. “You came late, if you showed up at all. You called all of my methods nonsense. You kept calling me names… okay, you _still_ do. You didn’t want to make certain movements because you found them ridiculous… You cannot imagine how many times I just wanted to punch you to make you shut up.”

“Fine, let’s stick to that, then. _In any case_ , I was being an _asshole_ , and I didn’t want anyone’s help. Tyrion had to _drag_ me to see a bonesetter about the injury, which, you might be able to imagine, is hilarious to watch, a dwarf dragging a grown man down the street.”

“I remember. That was one awkward phone call I got before you dropped by for the first time. ‘ _You may have to wait a long while. My brother does not yet know of his luck and he will likely fight back. You may want to hide sharp objects, too, by the way_.’”

“He said that for real?” Jaime laughs.

Tyrion never told him about that.

“Those were the highlights,” Brienne snorts. “Though there was more. But I have to give your brother that much – he was right with most of his predictions.”

“Oh my… well, the thing is this: you should know that I didn’t want your help at first either,” Jaime goes on to say.

“You were the most reluctant patient I ever had… and a dick about it.”

“I don’t trust easily.”

“I realized. At some point I still feared you’d try to reset your bones by yourself, believing that you could do it better than me.”

“It would be a lie to say that I didn’t try.”

“Seriously,” Brienne says, dead-panning.

“Seriously,” he affirms.

“Yeah, definitely an asshole.”

“The point is this: I didn’t want to accept anyone’s help either. Asking for favors is _shit_. It just reminds you of the things you can’t do by yourself, so you have to admit to yourself that you can’t do those things. I hated the feeling that I couldn’t do things my usual ways, with the hand injury. It’s fine now, but back in the day? Not so much.”

“We are so definitely losers,” Brienne moans with the smallest of smirks.

“We are.”

Brienne sighs, swallowing a huge gulp of tea, relishing the warmth, as it appears.

“… I really owe you my thanks for this, Jaime,” she says in a hushed little voice.

“Don’t bother, wench. It’s the least I can do. Do you expect me to leave a damsel in distress?”

“I may have been in distress, but we both know I am anything but a damsel.”

“Well, maybe more of a modern-day damsel, with sportswear.”

“I normally know how to save myself. Tonight… was an exception.”

“So you refuse my status as the knight riding up all boldly in his sports car to save you from freezing to death outside a gym?”

“I just refuse the damsel status.”

“And hey, think about it like this: If you want to repay me, we may want to reconsider on the scented candles and oils.”

“This is most definitely not going to happen,” Brienne retorts, gesticulating.

“Oh, c’mon, you want it, I am sure. I bet it’s a lot _smoother_ like that!” Jaime chuckles with the darkest of grins.

“… Can I take you up on the offer of a shower? I didn’t get to it at the gym, and I would… like to clean up a bit,” Brienne asks, and Jaime knows she is just trying to steal out of the situation, the little minx.

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Jaime grimaces, getting up. “Follow me.”

Brienne trots after him as Jaime walks her over to the bathroom.

“The towels are over there, everything else is in the shower itself… I guess you know how this works?”

“I have a similar one at my place,” Brienne nods. “Thank you.”

“Alright, then I will leave you to yourself.”

“Thanks another time.”

“No problem.”

Jaime exits. He can hear Brienne undressing as he walks away – and he can’t deny himself the heat rising to both his face and the regions below the bellybutton.

_Oh well. What did Tyrion say about the balls?_

Jaime decides that he might want to offer her something to wear. As tall as she is, she can very well fit his clothes, he reckons. So he maneuvers into his bedroom and pulls out a basic white shirt with v-neck and some sweatpants with a waistband so she can fit it to her size. Satisfied with the yield, Jaime carries the clothes back outside over to the bathroom.

For a moment, Jaime feels any urge to go in to make her shriek, but then thinks better of it. She will likely flee the apartment if he makes her jump like that.

And Jaime is done having her steal away for a night.

“Brienne? I got some spare clothes for you, if you want to change into something more comfortable. I will leave them out the door alright?”

“… Oh, thank you!”

Jaime nods before resuming his seat on the couch, chuckling to himself softly once the door opens ajar only just a few inches for Brienne’s arm to shoot out like a snake attacks its prey to grab the clothes and pull them inside.

Soon thereafter, Brienne exits, the white shirt sticking to her body because of the dampness of her skin. Jaime can’t help the small yet sharp intake of air right there. He can’t even say what it is, but seeing her in his clothes, toweling her hair as she walks… it makes him want to look at that far more often, to be honest.

_Daily._

“Feeling better now?” he asks rather awkwardly.

And the Gods know that Jaime Lannister is normally not awkward when talking to the ladies, quite on the contrary: the ladies get all awkward around him, all blushes and squealy voices.

“Much better, thank you,” Brienne says, waddling over to sit down on the couch, though Jaime notes that she sits a bit further away from him than the last time.

She looks around.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just… this is the first time I see your apartment,” Brienne explains, rolling her shoulders. “I feared for worse.”

“You mean to say?”

“I expected lots of lion statues of gold and red velvet and… I don’t know, something that smudges Lannister right in your face,” Brienne explains, rubbing the tip of her nose with the flat of her hand. “The interior is much more tasteful than I thought it’d be.”

“Way to make a compliment, wench. I am more into minimalistic furniture. Though I do have lion statues in gold over there.”

“Oh, true. Well, those fit about alright.”

“It’s odd, don’t you think?” he asks.

“What now?” She turns her gaze back to him, blinking.

“How long have we been… acquainted now? Outside my therapy? And we’ve never seen each other’s apartment from the inside.”

“… True.”

“Just so that you know, that means you have to invite me over to your place at some point. Out of justice,” Jaime chuckles.

“Justice?”

“Hey, you can now dig through my drawers if you liked. It’d only be fair if I got the same chance.”

“In contrast to you, I don’t go through people’s drawers in search for energy bars and scented candles,” Brienne huffs.

“I wasn’t looking for the candles.”

“But the energy bar.”

“You could just put a few in a jar for your patients, you know?”

“And you are not my patient, not officially, that is,” Brienne argues. “I told you often enough, you only get the absolute minimum for the car rides.”

“It’s always nice to know that people make exceptions for you and only you.”

“How do you know that you are the only one?” Brienne argues, her lips wrapped around the mug as she takes a sip.

“What? You have others beside me? I can’t imagine that,” Jaime retorts.

“You only come by on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That means I have three other evenings to give private sessions, potentially.”

“Well, judging by tonight, it’s not on Friday evenings.”

“Then two at least?”

“You don’t have anyone beside me, admit it already.”

“Don’t think you are that special,” Brienne snorts. “It’s the only way I can make sure that you keep up with your wrist training. You slack off way too often if people don't watch out for you. And since you are officially written off as healed in the reports, those sessions are a perfect way to make certain that you don't forget about the practice so your hand pains don’t return.”

“So you manipulate me? Wench, I feel wounded,” Jaime replies, though his mind still tries to wrap itself around the information he just received. Because, upon reflection, Brienne will always check on his hand and arm during the sessions, even if he only requests her to work on his back most of the time. She does it wordlessly, most of the time, but… she checks every time.

“You do realize that this actually means that…,” Brienne says, but then stops.

“That what?”

“Forget it,” Brienne replies curtly, pursing her lips.

“No, now I want to know,” Jaime teases.

_Maybe even need to know?_

“No.”

“Wench.”

“NO.”

“Brienne.”

“No.”

“I will just keep going until you tell me,” he warns her.

“… well, seems like I care about your wellbeing, by the Seven. There. Have at it.”

Jaime blinks.

“Shocking, I know. So now, laugh it up or else you might pop a blood vessel, trying to hold back the giggles. But just so that you know, I care a lot about my patients, all of them.”

Brienne looks at him quizzically when Jaime doesn’t reply, instead looks ahead with equal puzzlement.

“Oh, Seven Hells,” Brienne growls in frustration, meaning to get up, but that is when a hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back down. She lets out a squeal as she bumps back against the backrest, only to have Jaime’s lips on hers.

Jaime looms above her, partly having risen from his seat to trap her beneath him.

He has to stop abruptly once she pushes him away, however.

“What, by the Mother, has gotten into you?!” she gasps, eyes wide pools of sapphire blue.

“Man, I thought I really felt the vibe and just acted upon it,” Jaime says with a grimace, running his fingers through his hair.

“ _Vibe_? What are you talking about?”

“I just used my chance. Geez, if you are not into it, that’s fine, Brienne. It just… overcame me, whatever.”

That is not the reaction he is used to, to be sure.

“You are making fun of me,” Brienne argues.

“Why would I be making fun of you?” Jaime replies, furrowing his eyebrows.

“That is your _modus operandi_.”

“ _Modus operandi_ , really?”

“You make a sport of it to tease and make jokes. And hey, I am fine with it – by now, but that’s something that goes beyond making some lewd comments, alright? Kisses do mean something – to me.”

“To me also,” Jaime insists.

“Then _why_ would you do that? Or do you think that after I had such a bad night this would… cheer me back up?” Brienne questions, and Jaime can see the hurt written all over her face at the mere thought of it.

“What? No,” he argues vehemently.

He wouldn’t ever.

“Then what?” Brienne demands.

“You make things complicated,” Jaime exhales.

_A kiss is a kiss. What else is there to say?_

“Complicated? _You_ kissed _me_!”

“Because I thought you were into it, after stating that you care about me and all. Man, I am usually not that bad at reading signs.”

“This is ridiculous. It’s this whole situation. This is just… crazy. You are my patient!”

“I am not your patient anymore,” Jaime corrects her.

“You know how I mean it!” she argues.

“Brienne, look,” he says, glad to have her eyes instantly fix on his. “I meant that kiss, alright? I mean, I’ll grant you, this situation _is_ a mess, our whole situation is apparently very weird, I suppose, but… I meant it.”

“We barely know each other.”

“We meet twice a week, for over a year now. There are relatives I see less often. There are friends I see far less often than that. We talk about… all kinds of things, even the private matters. So no, we are no strangers to each other, _c’mon_.”

“So what?”

Jaime licks his lips. “Want to hear some pitiful truth now?”

Because with Brienne, only truth seems to work.

That is her _modus operandi_.

“Didn’t we have enough of that yet?”

“Seems like we have not – if that is our current situation,” Jaime argues, gesturing at the space between them.

“Then what?” she asks.

“You know what has been my weekly highlights in a long time now?”

“Free massages?” she suggests bluntly. Jaime can’t help the small laugh, but then turns serious again. “Those, too, but actually… it’s the rides to your apartment.”

“What?” Brienne grimaces.

“Look, I come from a family that makes a tradition of it not to talk about… much of anything other than success, things to improve, the Lannister Empire, the company, and who makes heirs for the _kingdom_. We don’t talk feelings, they are just a nuisance that… occurs every now and then, according to Lannister Standards. You know, that is what makes asking for favors, for help, or accepting that you need it in the first place… damn hard for the likes of me. We are conditioned not to. We are supposed to be able to do it all by ourselves and simply be… the best, even if we aren’t, by far.”

“I know all that, you told me…”

“No, no, the thing is that you are the one person outside my family I am comfortable around to… let that happen, even if it’s between you breaking my bones or on a car ride to an apartment I have yet to see from the inside. To talk about how much work sucks, and all those things that are never up to discussion with the people of my clan. I even talk about emotions, which is still rather irritating for me, but hey. You really think I only keep coming by your practice because of the massages? The answer is no. Those two are my happy hours, literally, that's why I keep coming by.”

_To see her. See her smile and roll her eyes at him in annoyance._

Brienne can do nothing much but stare at him.

“You know, here is the thing: I tend to realize things very, very late once it comes to personal matters. The _important_ things, you know? So, for me, it was… tonight… I realized that I would leave everything aside to rush to see you… which is pitiful enough, but that’s the way it is,” Jaime admits.

“Wow… that is… shocking.”

“That was not the word I was hoping for,” he argues, making a face.

“No, it’s just… ugh, this is… not making any sense,” she exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. “So… what is this supposed to be? We two realize that we are actually into each other after I was robbed, you had to come pick me up, I am practically homeless for the night, and we realized that we are social losers? Seriously?”

“That is… pathetic.”

“Right?”

“I used to pride myself with being good with the ladies, you know? I have more class than that, normally…”

“This is… okay, is this one of those moments where in situations of extreme stress and chaos… you say and do things that you normally wouldn’t? This is not normal.”

“Well, this is an exceptional situation for sure.”

“Which is why we should… treat it as such, right?” Brienne asks.

“Do you want to treat it as such?”

Brienne looks at him for a long moment.

“ _I_ don’t want to treat it as such, just so that you know, but if you want to… well, I can live with that,” he says, offering an awkward smile. “And hey, I still get those massages, right? If not, I am going to riot, though.”

“You mean that.”

“How many times do I have to say it until you believe me, wench? Don’t you trust me not to lie to you in such a situation?”

“I trust you,” she says almost automatically, shocked at herself for the ease the words come with, because it is no secret that Brienne of Tarth doesn’t trust easily.

“Well?”

“It’s just… hard to believe.”

“What is?”

“That you of all people would be… into me. I am not blind, you know?” she says, gesturing at herself.

“Neither am I,” Jaime argues, his voice gaining strength with every word he speaks. “And in any case, do you really think that the many times I asked you to let me lie down for a few minutes longer after you kneaded my back and sat on top of me was only because I wanted some nap time?”

“What now?”

He nods downwards.

“Really?” Brienne asks, getting the implication, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

“That’s the thing about being a guy, we are far more obvious in those regards.”

“… Yeah, definitely a weird night… that just keeps getting weirder,” Brienne mumbles.

“Well, we won’t un-weird this anyways, so the important question is really… what you want this to be… other than a mess. I don't want to push my luck too far.”

“Why so?”

“If a kiss means that we stop being friends, I am going to be mad.”

“Friend,” Brienne repeats, her eyes widening.

“Okay, are we now supposed to talk about all those matters until you understand that you are this to me?”

Brienne opens her mouth in reply, but no words come out. She bows her head slightly, and that is when her earlier words echo inside his mind. About how pathetic she felt for not having anyone to call up to give her a ride home or let her spend the night.

It should come as a surprise, really, that a woman as tough as Brienne of Tarth even has such a tender, fragile side, but Jaime knew about that soft side of hers in a longer while, he just didn’t know about the wounds it carried.

She turns to him, her big blue eyes glistening as though a million stars got caught in them right at this moment.

Jaime just watches as she takes his hand into hers wordlessly, not looking at him as she does, running her thumb over the scars there.

And while she has done that hundreds of times by now, Jaime can’t say a touch of such simplicity has ever felt that intimate to him.

Because, so Jaime has to realize right at this moment, Brienne got to know him at a low point in his life, an abyss. She didn't even have the memories to hold on to in the way Tyrion had them, to pull through the bad times that followed the accident. She befriended him and came to care about him when he was really rather terrible to all involved.

She didn’t give him up when he felt like giving up – and she didn’t give him up, though she wouldn’t know if what kept her motivating him to keep fighting was worth anything at all. Because Jaime was not too sure about that by the time. But Brienne? She told him to do the task again, to try harder. Do it again and again. Work through the pain, told him that she is with him and that he has to do another push, another pull – for her.

She had to put faith in what she believed him to be able to achieve through the rehab.

She believed in his future in a way that Jaime didn’t ever witness up to that point. Because people kept telling him about how he would be “back in shape” and “just like before the accident” way too often. Brienne never made him any such promises.

The first time he came to her practice, she was very clear about the matter.

“I won’t tell you that you will regain full strength in your limb. I find it more than unlikely. I don’t know what prognoses other therapists have given you. Maybe 60% of the former mobility, I assume. Maybe 70%. I won’t give you any so such figures, Mr. Lannister.”

And why? he had asked, back then.

“If you decide to work with me, it will be tough, it will be excruciating at times. You will want to give up half the time – and I will keep pushing you anyway. But I won’t give you any sort of prognosis at this point. My prognosis is rather simple: We work as hard as we can. Maybe we get sixty. Maybe seventy. But with the right training? I think we can achieve more than that, but that is up to you, not me. If you want to fight this, I will fight with you, and we will squeeze out every last drop of the potential you have. But without your cooperation, we are bound to fail. I only have two options for you: One, you leave my practice right now and try to find your way some other way, or you stick around and we work on this together, till last.”

And that actually did the trick for Jaime, after some time.

She saw potential in him, saw future in him, when he saw none for himself.

“Jaime?”

He tears his gaze away, surprised that suddenly, it’s her lips on his, hesitant, shy almost, but no less intense. Jaime pulls her to him, and this time, she doesn’t push away, but towards him. They deepen the kiss almost in perfect synchrony.

_As it appears, you can work together in those ways, too, not just in therapy._

The kiss feels like a little eternity of its own, just between them. A moment in time that seems to last much longer than it actually does, imprinted into both their memories for a long, long time.

Once they break away, both have to catch their breaths.

“I seem to have my answer,” Jaime brings out between gulps of air.

“… I am not good with words.”

Jaime chuckles softly, nuzzling his nose against her shoulder. “Well, gladly, you are good enough with your mouth to give your answer some other way.”

“Oh, shut up already.”

“As my lady wishes,” Jaime says before claiming her lips another time, his left hand trailing up and down her side so he can feel her shiver beneath his touch even through the cotton shirt.

_Most definitely a night full of unexpected circumstances._

Though Jaime won’t complain about that chain of events in the face of the feelings flooding him right at this moment. The intimacy, the need and desire, and that it is returned to him in the same measure, with the same kind of intensity.

“You know, I actually wanted to prep up the guestroom for you, but I suppose there is no longer any need for it, is there?”

“Why would you think that?” Brienne grimaces.

“What? I have any intention to… go from here,” he replies, letting his index finger dance over the exposed skin of her upper arm.

“What if I insist on sleeping in a guest room?” Brienne asks with a small grin.

“Hm, then I may have to sneak in during the night.”

“That isn’t very gentlemanlike.”

“I’d make it up to you.”

“Which presumes that I’d let you.”

“By which you assume that you don’t want it. I think your body may have something different to say about the matter,” Jaime says, feeling the goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “And hey, you were the one to always give me the speeches about listening to my own body.”

“That’s not quite the same, you idiot.”

“Perhaps not, but… I still think you want and you just play hard-to-get,” he argues.

“Maybe I am just hard-to-get?”

“You most certainly are, my lady.”

“Would you quit calling me that?” Brienne rolls her eyes.

“Nah, I quite like that one. Though wench still beats this one by far.”

“And here I hoped that wench would finally be put to the grave.”

“Never.”

“Pity.”

“And hey, think about it like this – I could use all the knowledge about massages that I got thanks to you,” Jaime purrs playfully.

“No way. You will likely break bones.”

“You really think I am that clumsy?” he huffs.

“Uhm, yeah?” Brienne retorts with a smirk.

“I really have to prove you wrong in _so_ many aspects.”

“Good luck with that.”

Jaime chuckles.

That is the kind of Brienne he just loves to see and hear.

Teasing, laughing, private, _real_.

And now also on his couch, inches from him. Just within reach.

Jaime gets up from the couch, holding out his hand to her.

“Guest room or luxurious bedroom with this here,” he says, gesturing at himself, “at your convenience.”

“That sounded not all arrogant,” Brienne huffs, rolling her eyes yet again.

“What’s it going to be? What will you choose, hm? As far as I am concerned, you only have two options at this point.”

“I could also take the couch!” Brienne insists.

“Ha, I didn’t think about that one. So?” he asks, nodding at his hand. Brienne bites her lower lip – and Jaime can hear the wheels turning inside her head.

Small wonder. Brienne is normally rather shy about those matters, as far as he is concerned, so that is yet again an obstacle she has to overcome.

Jaime chuckles to himself when she takes his hand, if a bit hesitantly, and he pulls her over to his bedroom, allowing no more second guesses, pulling the door close once they are both inside.

“… I knew you had something red and velvety somewhere, with golden ornaments. God is that tacky.”

“Hey, don't insult that thing, wench. It’s an heirloom.”

“A tacky heirloom,” she corrects him.

“We could start out our making out session on it?”

“Not going to happen.”

“It’s chaise lounge! You can make out on chaise lounges, no bother!”

“Did it ever occur to you that since it is an heirloom that you ancestors likely… made love on that thing?”

“Oh by the Seven, why did you have to say that? Now I have to burn it,” Jaime cries out.

“As I was saying.”

“Okay, on the bed, now,” he orders.

“You don't get to order me what to do.”

“You just don’t like the reversed rules.”

“I don’t accept them.”

A small crush, a yelp, a thud.

“Did you seriously just wrestle me down on the bed?!”

“Seems like it. I told you often enough that I am strong enough. You never seemed to believe me!”

“Get off of me now, you oaf. I am taking the guest room after all!”

“We both know you won’t.”

“You are unbearable.”

“But I am your best friend, remember?” he teases.

“And a pain in the ass.”

“Your pain in the ass,” Jaime argues. “And hey, look at it like this: Normally I am the one offering a ride, now it would only be fair of you to offer me one.”

“That was not as smooth as you thought it was.”

“True. I would like to make a suggestion.”

“Which would be?”

“Less talking – more making out.”

“If that makes you shut up? I am all up for it.”

“Ha, at last we agree, wench. But trust me, soon enough, you will be the one being unable to shut it, calling my name.”

“What did we say about less talking?” Brienne huffs, unimpressed.

“As my lady commands,” Jaime says before leaning down to kiss her – in all earnest.

_And just like that, a messy, weird day got a happy ending after all._

_A very happy ending._

_And likely not the only one for the night._

_And hopefully, for many more nights from now on._

* * *

 

Jaime looks around the bar, studying the people partying, drinking, eating fancied up cheese sticks with sesame, so Tyrion insists. And against all odds, he is in a far better mood than he expected himself to be a while back.

After the mess of a night that came with stolen bags and kisses in the end, Jaime was pleasantly surprised that the awkwardness kept fading away more and more. The next morning felt as though they had been doing this for months already, drinking coffee, munching toast, laughing, joking, teasing here and there, coupled with some lazy morning kisses that Jaime didn't know he ever missed until he had them.

Once they were done, phone calls were made, locksmiths were ordered to do their job, and for Brienne the reality began about getting her papers back, because, obviously, that took precedence before lazy afternoons in bed.

Much to Jaime’s displeasure, however.

He dropped her off at her apartment once everything was ready, and it felt almost like the many times he gave her a lift back from the practice, just that this time… Jaime couldn’t help but think that it felt even better than before. The shy smiles were shyer, the laughs filled with more strength, the jokes looser, the tension somehow completely deflated, gone.

What was likely the best in it all was the moment Brienne had already gotten out of the car, had talked to him for a few more minutes, leaning over the lowered window on his side, and was about to walk away when she pressed a quick kiss to his lips like a teenager kisses her first crush, only to rush off, leaving Jaime laughing in all earnest because that was most definitely not the most intimate or passionate kiss they had shared, but Jaime reckons that she was more ashamed of showing affection, familiarity that shouldn’t be there already, when in fact… it just is.

They haven’t found the time to go on actual dates since, though Jaime has any intention to take her out as soon as a chance arises.

So, tonight, Jaime is in a good mood because it feels like his life is taking a surprisingly good if not perfectly right direction.

“So? How are you liking the party, brother?”

“You did one fine job at the organization, dear brother,” Jaime tells Tyrion, who walked up to him as he drifted off into the realm of his thoughts for a little while. “for which I thank you.”

Jaime tilts his head.

“Though I didn’t want to see _that_.”

He points ahead to Asha grinding against Dany on the dancefloor, only to have Daario start a catfight, Dany being all pleased about the attention she is getting.

“Me neither. I thought they’d at least wait until after midnight. But you know how it is with the youngsters. They are all needy,” Tyrion says, shaking his head.

“Obviously,” Jaime chuckles. “Did you bring Shae along?”

“Of course I did. This is no official Lannister family dinner, thank the Seven.”

“Yeah, you want to go over to her, right now,” Jaime says, looking to the other side of the dancefloor.

“What? Why?”

“I think she is talking to one of your exes. And you know what happens when they talk to your exes.”

“Fuck,” Tyrion cries out.

“You better hurry, brother! Run, run as fast as you can!” Jaime calls out, laughing.

Tyrion hurries across the dancefloor as Jaime laughs to himself, but that is when the door opens and someone walks in.

Jaime can’t help but stare for a moment.

“Brienne?” he shouts out, already walking over to the tall woman.

After all, she told him again and again that she wouldn’t attend.

Her eyes find his even in the crowd. She flashes him a soft but no less bright smile.

“What are you doing here? You said you had other plans,” he asks once he reaches her.

“I decided that it would have been a shitty move not to come by to drop my present,” Brienne replies with an easy smile.

And the Gods know that Jaime grows to love that easy smile with every day passing.

“Present? You said you wouldn’t get me a present.”

“That… was a lie,” Brienne admits with a snort.

“What?” Jaime furrows his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I had any intention to anyway.”

“It’s always shocking to learn that some people are kind… _for real_ ,” Jaime huffs, before he takes her hand to squeeze it once. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Well, you didn’t lie, when your brother throws a party, he aims at… big and bigger,” Brienne replies.

“This is the _mild_ version, actually. He once rented an entire house for twenty people. It was insane,” Jaime explains.

“Well, there is worse.”

“As it appears, yes.”

Brienne holds out an envelope in front of him. “Happy Birthday, Jaime.”

Jaime takes it from her, chuckling softly. He opens the envelope, surprised at the content.

“A… _prescription_?” he grimaces at the letter in his hand, but then starts to read it, only to crack up laughing. “A coupon for an orthopedic chair of my choosing, _really_?”

“ _Really_.”

“Wow.” He makes a face.

“And hey, if you behave yourself, I may come along to assist you in choosing the right one. That’s a service my usual patients don’t get,” Brienne tells him.

“Now I feel honored,” Jaime snorts.

“You should. I was thinking really hard about how to do it,” Brienne argues. “I am not really creative when it comes to these kinds of things.”

“Well, it’s the most personal prescription I ever received,” Jaime chuckles.

“You get another present as well, under one condition, though,” Brienne says, not looking at him.

Jaime instantly knows that something is up.

“What condition?”

“You won't say out loud what is inside – or show it to anyone. I know you,” she says, pointing her index finger at him.

“Now, that sounds scandalous,” Jaime says with a dark grin creeping up his lips, extending all the way to his eyes.

“Less scandalous than what you likely have in your dirty mind,” Brienne argues.

She hands him the medium-sized golden box with deep red bow on top. Jaime takes it, lifting the lid cautiously, all the while checking on Brienne’s facial expression, caught somewhere between distressed, anxious, and laughing herself at the ridiculousness of it.

And that is when Jaime sees what is inside.

“ _No_ way,” he laughs.

“Bear in mind what I said. No word to anyone,” Brienne warns him.

“This will be hard to keep to myself an entire evening.”

He wants to shout it out now to keep himself from laughing, to be honest.

“See it as motivation to learn more self-control.”

“I long since gave up on that,” Jaime huffs. “But oh well, I suppose the least I can do is offer you a drink, right? C’mon.”

He pulls her along by the wrist, over to the bar where Tyrion is twisting on one of the bar stools.

“Brother! And Dr. Tarth! What a rare sight!”

“Hello, Tyrion,” Brienne greets him politely.

“Where did you leave Shae?” Jaime asks, looking around. Tyrion lets his head sink low, “Don't ask. The woman had to tell her about that stupid incident in the Dragonpit and now she wants to know all the details.”

“You just have to think of alibis.”

“What do you think am I doing right now? I am readying myself for the war.”

“Alright, what would you like to drink, Brienne? _Sex on the Beach_ perhaps?” Jaime asks teasingly. Brienne narrows her eyes at him. “How about a _Dirty Martini_ , huh?” she snorts. Jaime laughs, before gesturing at the bartender. “A _Dirty_ Martini for the lady over here, thank you.”

“In a minute,” the bartender says before disappearing to mix the drink.

“So, how is the practice going, Doc?” Tyrion asks casually.

“Oh, really well,” Brienne replies. “Thank you.”

“Have you considered a therapy mobile of some sort? You could make some good money if you went around the companies for massages and the like!” Tyrion goes on to ask.

“See? As I was telling you,” Jaime says, gesticulating at his brother. “And you must know, he knows all the numbers.”

“I think I will pass. I am busy enough with my usual patients.”

“Well, you are always welcome to approach us on the matter. The Lannister Company is always looking for ways of improvement.”

“He just wants free backrubs.”

“Shae is really good at this, you know.”

“I don’t want to know,” Jaime huffs, shaking his head. Tyrion studies his older brother for a long moment, before he goes on to say, “Brother dearest, I seem to require your assistance.”

“For what?” Jaime frowns.

“Something for the cake. Would you come along for a minute? I mean, if Doc Brienne were so kind to excuse us for a moment or two?”

“Oh, sure, I got myself occupied,” Brienne says, nodding at the drink in hand, and the snacks in front of her.

“Most kind of you. We shall be back in a bit. C’mon now, Jaime. No time to lose, the cake is calling.”

“I told you I don’t want any cake,” Jaime grumbles as he follows Tyrion over to the doors leading to the kitchen, surprised when the dwarfish man stops a few feet in front to turn to face him.

“There is no cake.”

“Then why did you say that?” Jaime argues.

_This is not making any sense._

“I will make you the biggest birthday present I can currently give you… right at this moment.”

“Which would be?”

“I let you leave this festivity,” Tyrion tells him.

“You throw me out of my own birthday party?” Jaime makes a face.

_Now, that’s no birthday present, is it?_

“We can now act like you don’t want to screw the Lady Doc up and down the walls of your apartment, or we can cut to business here,” Tyrion sighs. “Brother, there is no better chance to get laid than at your birthday. I mean, I am surprised that it took you that long to lay her in the first place, because the Seven know that you have been lusting for her in a long, long time, but… don’t let that chance slip because of this mild orgy over here.”

“You mean that.”

Because no, Jaime wouldn’t leave if he had the feeling that it’d hurt Tyrion’s feelings. After all, he makes that whole party effort only just for him, and even though Jaime likes to complain about it, he appreciates it nonetheless.

“ _I mean that_. I won't be mad. I will be a kind little brother and make up some passable excuses so no one will miss you… I still think they won’t miss you much anyways, because most people don’t even know you.”

“As I was saying.”

“The point is – I got you covered. For once… I shall be your little wingman.”

“And you are…,” Jaime means to ask, but Tyrion interrupts him, grunting, “Sure, yes, now go on before I change my mind.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Jaime chuckles, before bending down to hug his brother. “The party was awesome – and will continue to be. Thank you for it.”

“Now be on your way,” Tyrion says, gesturing at him to finally go. Jaime salutes at him, winking, before heading back to the bar to where Brienne is sitting.

“Lucky bastard… so now, where is Shae…? Oh crap, not Ros. She will tell her everything!” Tyrion cries out, before hurrying off to the other side of the bar yet again.

Jaime returns to Brienne turning on the chair, munching some of the snacks, looking at the people dancing with almost childish curiosity.

_She is really too endearing in her innocence at times._

“Oh, back so fast? Where did you leave Tyrion at?” Brienne asks, looking around in search for the short man.

“He will likely have to save his relationship a few times that evening,” Jaime grimaces.

“Why?”

“Exes meeting the girlfriend,” Jaime explains. “And really, he can’t blame anyone but himself for the matter – he invited them.”

“Oh,” Brienne says, nodding slowly.

“But that’s not the matter,” he says, tapping his hand on the box a few times. “We should get out of here.”

“Wait, no, I came only now,” Brienne argues. “I still haven’t eaten much. And there seem to be some things to do… While you said the party would be lame, I like the music at least.”

“Brienne, I want to _unwrap my present_ , alright? At your apartment, _now_ ,” he growls, leaning in closer – and he can feel her shiver softly at the change of his voice. Because the need and want the words come with are still things she has to grow accustomed to, as it seems.

“And what if I don’t want?” she argues, chuckling.

“You can’t make me that present and have no other thoughts in mind, go kid yourself. You are not as innocent in these regards as you act like at times. I should know,” Jaime huffs.

“And it’s fine to just leave your own birthday party?” Brienne grimaces, looking around at the many people who came.

“Yes, it is. So now, c’mon. Here, take the whole glass of snacks along. You even get to eat them in the car if you want, so long we leave, right now,” Jaime urges her, thrusting the glass into her hand.

“… Okay,” she replies uncertainly, glancing down at the glass of snacks in her hand.

Jaime tugs the box under his arm before ushering Brienne towards the exit, grabbing the coats from the racks there.

Thankfully, the street is pretty much empty at that hour.

“Scented candles and oils,” Jaime chimes with a dark grin. “And a CD with whale songs!”

“What did I say?” Brienne pouts.

“I didn’t say anything inside. No one is around to hear it anyway.”

“Still,” she insists.

“Nah, you can’t make such presents and expect complete secrecy from me. Wait, do you wear lingerie as well? Because then we may not make it to your apartment in time,” he tells her.

No, he would fling her down, tear off her clothes…

“No way in the Seven hells. What’s the sense in it anyway?” Brienne huffs.

“True again. The point is taking them off,” Jaime can’t help but admit.

“So why bother buying something like that?”

“Maybe I will get you something for your birthday?”

“Don’t expect me to wear it, though.”

“Not even for me?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes at her in a mocking manner.

“Specifically not for you.”

They reach the car.

“You tell me, will it turn you on if I play the whale songs during the ride to your apartment?” Jaime teases.

“I am _pretty_ certain that this won’t be the case,” Brienne replies with a huff, only to let out a squeal when Jaime closes the distance between them at once, kissing her deeply, pressing her against the side of the car.

“I may warn you, though,” Brienne says, pulling away slightly. “I hate using the oils because they smell awfully synthetic. I actually bought them to prove you just that.”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll like it?” he argues, breathing against her face, his eyes dark with desire.

“I doubt it.”

“Hm, so long it’s you using them, I am bound to love them.”

“Apartment?” Brienne suggests.

“Yes. YES,” Jaime growls deep in his throat, his chest rumbling. Brienne already wants to get inside when he pulls her back one more time to pull her in for a passionate kiss.

Jaime hums against her lips. The familiarity is mixed with the feeling of anticipation, want and need – _for her, only her_.

“This is possibly the best birthday ever,” Jaime says joyfully.

“Well, that is something only time will reveal,” Brienne argues with a grin.

Yes, he definitely loves that kind of smile on her lips.

The teasing there.

Because that seems to be only for him in turn.

“Speaking of. We have no time to lose. Into the car, now,” Jaime urges her, realizing that they are wasting valuable time, bolting around the car already, but Brienne seems to have another idea, leaning her arms on the roof. “I was going to – until you interrupted me!”

“Wench, no arguing, get inside, now,” Jaime argues, gesticulating.

“Hey, no, you don’t get to be bossy on me now. Also, stop calling me wench.”

“Inside the car, now!”

“Nope.”

“Brienne.”

“Nope.”

“ _Please_?”

She climbs into the car, then, chuckling with satisfaction. “Was that so difficult?”

“Do not fret, I will make you pay back in equal measures once we get over to your place. Then you’ll be the one pleading,” he tells her with the dirtiest of grins.

“You go on believing that,” she huffs.

“What? Last time…,” he means to say, but she cuts him off, “Watch the road. I don't want to end up in the hospital because you are inattentive.”

“I could drive blindly. The road is empty!”

“You are simply unbearable. I really start to question why I ever befriended you.”

“ _Befriended_ me? Oh, we are _far_ more than friends now, aren’t we?”

Though they are friends, too, they had to realize.

“Eyes on the road.”

“I just keep picturing you in lingerie now. I can’t help it!”

“I don’t wear lingerie,” she grounds out.

“Then are you naked underneath? Please say yes?”

“No? And no, you don't even get to imagine that.”

“I know what you look like naked. I only have to remember,” he chuckles with a dark grin yet again.

“I guess now would be the time to tell you that I will show you an amazing meditation technique with those oils.”

“No way!”

“Way.”

“It’s my birthday!”

“I am aware.”

“You can’t deny the birthday kid his presents!”

“Maybe if the birthday kid behaved himself?”

“You can’t expect that from me after dropping that scented bomb right to my feet, woman. Hey, can we debate about a quickie in the car?”

“Nope, and the ‘it’s my birthday card’ doesn’t count… now stop speeding.”

“I have a need, woman.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You, only you.”

Brienne says nothing at that. Jaime just laughs.

_Best birthday ever, most definitely._

_And just like that, a lame party got a very happy ending as well._

_… Or rather, a very happy beginning._

**_THE END_ **


End file.
